


Same Face, New Man

by Piplup212



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet, Historical References, M/M, honest to god idk what else to tag, this is short and was just smthn i wanted to put out into the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piplup212/pseuds/Piplup212
Summary: Paths cross in a 1st century Roman city.Something short and fun I wanted to write and finally decided to finish up!





	Same Face, New Man

An angel stood on a bustling street lined with street vendors, speaking to a man selling fruit. "And a little basket of pears, if you could!" Aziraphale produced a coin from his sleeve (it is to be noted Aziraphale did not have sleeves) and held it out to the fruit stall keeper, exchanging it for the mentioned basket of pears. 

Aziraphale took a few steps away from the stall, out of the way of any potential customers but close enough to still observe any additional purchases he might decide he wanted to make alongside what he already had. The fruit was so wonderfully fresh, after all!

Through the crowd of people, a woman with red hair and a rather interesting outfit (a blue top over what we observers may note as “blue jeans”) steps up to the stand. The fruit seller turns to look at her. "Afternoon, sweetheart. What can I get you, my love?"

The woman tilted forward onto her toes and back on her heels as she thought. "Er… Thainig mi, chunnaic mi, bhuannaich mi." Aziraphale looked over at her in confusion.

The fruit seller seemed similarly dumbfounded. "Huh? Sorry?" He was silent a beat before gesturing with his hands, raising his voice and emphasizing his words, a bit overdramatically if Aziraphale was to be honest. "Me no speak Celtic. No can do, missy."

"Yeah." Aziraphale heard the woman mutter before walking away from the stand. Now, it's not quite angelic to eavesdrop, but… once wouldn't hurt (it wasn't once). "How's he mean, Celtic?"

Aziraphale let a chuckle through his lips, turning to leave when a voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "Welsh. You sound Welsh."

The angel whipped around on his heels to see the woman and a man in a long brown coat turning to walk further down the street. It wasn't much, but Aziraphale got a glimpse of an undeniably familiar profile and another snippet of the voice. "There we are. Learnt something."

Aziraphale took a step forward as they began to walk away but stopped himself short. He grumbled, trying to convince himself to think better of it, before he cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted amongst the crowd of vendors and patrons. "Cra- Crowley, is that you?"

A certain some-demon's voice came from behind Aziraphale. "You called?" Aziraphale turned around to see Crowley tossing one of the angel's pears in the air, catching it in a hand before taking a bite out of it. His face twisted into something like disgust as he swallowed his bite. He looked at the pear as though it has just called him nice, or kind, or good. "What in Satan's name is that?"

Aziraphale scrambled to shush Crowley. "Keep your voice down, for goodness sake." He took a moment to look Crowley up and down. He had the same general get-up as the last time they had seen each other, a few years short of a decade from the crucifixion. The only change was his hair, which was much longer, about the same as it had been back in Eden, though he still had the little silver wreath around his head. 

Realizing a question had been asked of him, Aziraphale straightened his posture and tugged his basket closer to his body. "And it's a pear, Crowley, have you not had one before?"

"I hadn't, and quite frankly I wish I'd kept it that way." The demon looked at the pear before tossing it to the side for some animals of one kind or another to eat. "So, you yelled, Aziraphale." He shrugged, in a way that asked 'why, pray tell, did you yell my name in the middle of a busy marketplace filled with who knows what kind of people?'

Aziraphale snapped back to himself, looking rapidly behind him in the direction that the woman and man had gone, then back to Crowley. "Yes, how exactly did you just get behind me and into this outfit when I saw you right up the street 30 seconds ago?"

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about, what do you mean you saw me?" Crowley began walking in the direction Aziraphale had gestured, the angel close on his heels with his basket of fruit. 

"I mean I saw you, you were walking off with this Welsh woman, you had some sort of… long brown coat on.” Aziraphale caught up to walk at Crowley’s side. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Crowley shrugged, examining his surroundings and making mental notes of the alleyways around them. “Not sure, honestly. Beelzebub sent me up here, said something important would be happening soon and to be in Pompeii for it.”

“That’s interesting, Gabriel told me the same. Guess we’ll be finding out what was so important soon, won’t we?”

Crowley nodded, continuing down the street in search of his doppelganger.


End file.
